


Cycles and Recurring Patterns

by klr (klr157)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Exiled Tommyinnit, Past Character Death, Reflection, Suicidal Thoughts, but um, first work pog !, idk how to tag, poor tommy :(, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, this is all tommy the others are only mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klr157/pseuds/klr
Summary: “See you tomorrow, Tommy.”Tommy's reflections whilst in exile.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 90





	Cycles and Recurring Patterns

**Author's Note:**

> Tw suicidal thoughts 
> 
> It's very brief but please don't read if mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts may trigger you!  
> (The past character death is Wilbur.)  
> \---  
> This is my first time writing fanfic so please be nice and let me know if there are any mistakes.  
> Hope you enjoy!

“See you tomorrow, Tommy.” Dream stepped back into the swirling violet of the nether portal, a grin on his face, with the promise of yet another long day of taunts and mockery when he returns. He disappears in a blink, and Tommy thinks he should feel relieved, happier even, that his source of irritation, frustration, and so on, had left. Instead, as he stands facing the place where Dream had just stood, he feels nothing at all.

 _It’s quiet._ Tommy can hear each leaf rustle in the wind, and more than that, he can hear his own thoughts again. He doesn’t like where they lead. The deep ocean whose waves crash into the sandy shore beside him, – the beach chairs and festive decorations still there, collecting dust after the “party” – catches his attention for a minute too long. The water invites him closer just as the lava did. He thinks it would be peaceful, down at the dark ocean floor. He snaps his head away and all but runs back inside.

Tommy wishes the walls of his room would protect him, but as the door slams shut behind him, he only feels trapped, boxed in and more alone than ever. Memories start to flood his mind, and he sinks slowly into the course sheets of his bed. When he was younger, before there were Dreams and Erets and explosions and war, he had his family – his Wilbur, his Techno, his Phil, and Tubbo too. They laughed and fought and loved each other, or so Tommy had thought at the time. He was wrong of course; he somehow always is. He placed his loyalty in them, and they tore his heart to shreds piece by piece, pulled at the frail strings that held it together, tugged until they began to split. They don’t care about him – _they would have visited if they did, right?_

Wilbur doesn’t even remember all those things he did – the fear he instilled, the insanity, that world-shattering explosion. Wilbur let himself forget, so as to live without that burden. He used Tommy and tossed him away and never even acknowledged it. Ghostbur, though lovely and kind just as Wilbur used to be, only serves as a painful reminder that his brother - the one he knew and loved - is long gone, and all that remains is a hollow shell, incapable even of true regret for his actions whilst alive. 

Techno... Tommy had naively hoped that stronger than his love for anarchy, his hatred of governments, Techno cared about him, that Techno wanted to see his brothers happy and alive. Tommy was blinded by his admiration of “The Blade”. Withers lurk in the corners of his nightmares, and Tommy can see himself fall like the hero Theseus, flung into the depths to drown. ( _Tommy never wanted to be a hero_ , he was just following the role Wilbur set out for him).

Phil couldn’t save Wilbur ( _he killed his own son_ , _sliced through Wilbur's heart with his bloodied sword_ ), and it was clear who he sided with out of his two remaining sons – Tommy had barely seen him since he joined the server, even when he wasn’t yet exiled. Phil had always liked Techno better. Tommy was just an afterthought.

Still, he misses them. He misses how they would ruffle his hair (he grumbled about it, _but he never wanted it to end_ ), how Wilbur would strum at his guitar late at night, and Tommy would fell asleep to guitar chords that bled through the walls. He missed family movie nights, and sparring with Techno even though he could never win, and Phil’s comforting presence, his endless advice. He curls up tight, pressing his face into the pillow even as his eyes fill with tears. A memory flashes through his mind. Techno and Wilbur are teens again, and, as teens are prone to do, they spend all their time in their rooms, (without their annoying younger brother). Tommy, whose adoration of his brothers exists even now, though he tries to hide it, had wanted more movie nights, and complained about it. Techno and Wilbur ignore his requests (maybe he should’ve realised this wouldn’t change – no matter how much responsibility they offer him, _they’ll never respect him_ ). Young Tommy promised Phil that when he grows up, he’ll be different.

He isn’t – that’s not how the world works. He's in his room all alone. The tears have soaked where his face lays, and his head feels as though it is stuffed with cotton. He wants a hug. Instead, he’s all alone, exiled and betrayed and mocked. It’s his fault, isn’t it? he was too selfish, too irresponsible and inconsiderate. Tubbo had said so himself. And no one knows Tommy better than his Tubbo. _Tubbo..._ He hopes Tubbo is doing alright – he must be busy being president. That must be why he’s never visited. (The truth is clear to Tommy but he can’t bear to accept it. _Tubbo had exiled him_ , _Tubbo had betrayed him_ , _and now Tubbo had forgotten about him too_.)

Tommy begins to sob, and he sobs and sobs and sobs until everything loses its meaning, and the world is dark and frozen around him. The tears dry on his cheeks and he feels numb, worn out like a wrung towel. Before this all started, he would have tried to fix things, would have yelled and shouted and raced around, made plans. But now, there’s nothing he can do, nothing he wants to do. So he rolls over and lets the claws of sleep drag him under, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to comfort himself, just as he's done every night of his exile, and will continue to do for the foreseeable future. Tommy prays for the cycle to be broken, that something will come along and shatter it. _He knows it's a foolish wish._


End file.
